


Lumos

by overcastskeleton



Series: Hidden Confessions [2]
Category: Star Wars, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Confrontation, F/M, My thirst for this man is absurd, Smut, Use of restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21979471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overcastskeleton/pseuds/overcastskeleton
Summary: The reader hasn't answered Mando's messages, so he confronts herSequel to Nox
Relationships: Dyn Jarren / Reader, Dyn Jarren x reader - Relationship, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You, The Mandalorian x reader
Series: Hidden Confessions [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582198
Comments: 22
Kudos: 281





	Lumos

**Author's Note:**

> New things come to light

To say it was a long day would be an understatement. Your cantina had been unusually busy that day, with a record amount of fights breaking out between the patrons. But now, after wrestling the last drunk from your bar, it was time to go home. 

You’re halfway through your closing routine, when the front hatch slides open and shut, making you groan. 

“Come back tomorrow.” You scowl, continuing to stack the cups on the back counter. “We’re closed for the night.”

The hatch doesn’t reopen, and your scowl deepens. Your fingers curl around the small blaster in the holster under the bar, and you turn, holding it up in front of you. 

“I said-  _ oh _ …” Your eyes land on the beskar-clad bounty hunter in front of you. “Mando.” 

His head tilts to the side. “You didn’t answer.” He holds up his blinking commlink. The one that mirrors the dark one tucked away and gathering dust in your bedside table. 

You put the blaster away. “I’ve been busy, small business and all that.” You wave your hand around casually, but your heart is hammering inside your chest. 

“You’re avoiding me,” he says, voice flat. 

You roll your eyes and begin wiping the bar. “I am not. I’ve been busy, and I’m busy now, so you need to leave.” 

“I think I’ll wait here until you’re done.” Mando drops into a seat in front of you, and leans forward. 

You throw the towel down, exasperated. “What do you want?” 

“To see you.” His fingers trace the colorful ridges on the table, but his visor on his helmet doesn’t leave yours. 

You cross your arms over your chest. “Well, you’ve seen me. Goodbye.” 

“You know that’s not what I mean.” 

Of course you know exactly what he means, and you know if this conversation continues, you’ll give him exactly what he came here for. 

“I don’t have time for this,” you grumble, grabbing the rag again and moving to another table. 

The chair squeaks as he swivels around to watch you. You can feel his eyes travel over you, and you hate the way your body reacts to it. 

You weren’t lying about being busy, the cantina had been busier than usual, and your bartender had been MIA lately, probably in trouble with the law. That left you with all alone with an establishment to run, and no time to think about the man sitting in front of you. Which was a good thing. Fantastic in fact. 

It was all going so well. You spent a glorious two months with him pushed to the back of your mind. Now it all goes to shit the moment he waltzes back into your cantina. 

“I don’t think the table can get any cleaner,” Mando teases, leaning back against the chair with infuriating nonchalance.

“Oh  _ fuck off _ .” You whirl around suddenly. “Tell me what you want and then get out. I’ve had a long day, and you’re the last person I want to see right now.” You walk past him and into the back room of the bar. 

“I’ve been calling the commlink for three days.” He follows you. “Why didn’t you answer?” Mando taps the door shut with his foot, and the room suddenly feels three times smaller with him blocking the door. 

There was no way you were running away from this conversation. 

You take a step back, doing what you can to put space between the two of you, but it’s no use. The air is heavy with tension, and your skin prickles with goosebumps from the charged atmosphere. 

You take a deep breath to clear your head. “I told you I was--”

“Busy, yeah I heard you. It’s not just that though, is it?” Mando looms over you now, only a hair’s breadth away. “You’ve been acting strange since.” He pauses as realization dawns over him. “Since I told you my name.” 

You bite your bottom lip, staring past him with your jaw clenched. But your silence is all the confirmation he needs. 

“That’s it, isn’t it.” He presses. “You can’t even look at me right now.” 

He’s right, and you hate that he is. You hate that he can read you like an open book. But instead of admitting the absolute fear that knowing his name brings you, you divert to anger. 

“Why the hell would you do something like that?” You snap, and push him away from you. “We had an agreement.” 

He doesn’t even stumble back. “I told you my name, I didn’t ask for a relationship.” 

“But that’s where this is headed, right? One day it’s your name, the next it’s--” 

“A marriage proposal?” He gives you a mocking scoff. “You’re overreacting. I told you my name because I trust you, not because I’m expecting anything else from you.”

“I don’t want you to trust me.” You all but yell, your restrained emotions bubbling up to the surface. “And I don’t want to know your name.” 

Mando pauses for a moment. “Then what do you want?” He asks coldly. 

“I want what we had before. It was a good thing, sex with no feelings, no questions or expectations. And then you told me your name, you’re fucking name, and you  _ ruined it _ .” The fire burning in your chest makes you bold, and you walk towards him. “That’s a lot to just spring on a person, especially someone who didn’t ask for it!” You jab a finger into his chest. 

He’s still as a statue as he studies you. The silence makes you antsy, and you want to break it, but you’re frozen, held in place by the weight of his stare. Just when you think the quiet will suffocate you, he speaks, shattering it. 

“That’s what you want?” His voice is quiet. A dangerous weapon of sharp steel that cuts you to the quick. But the coolness of it sends shivers down your spine. “Want me to fuck you like you’re just some stranger?” 

You nod, almost imperceptibly. Whatever little boldness you had left inside you smolders away, leaving pure unbridled desire. The anger in you shifts to lust, and you swallow thickly, as your skin flushes, and your clothes suddenly feel too tight. Your survival instincts must have been severely skewed for you to find his hulking frame and threatening nature even remotely attractive. 

He closes the distance between the two of you, trapping you between the desk and his body. “Then that’s what you’ll get.” 

You gasp as he grabs your shoulder and turn you around. He manhandles you, molding your body into the position he wants it. You end up bent over your own desk with your pants and underwear around your ankles before you can even process how it happens. 

There’s a rustling and a tearing somewhere behind you, and then a rough strip of cloth covers your eyes. He ties it deftly, even in his haste and suddenly rough demeanor he’s careful not to hurt you. 

His helmet drops on the desk beside you, and his lips find your skin. Mando bites your neck, painting bruises across your sensitive skin. You squirm under him as his stubble rubs against your neck with a delicious friction and heavenly burn, and he lays his body weight on top of you to keep you still. The feeling of cold beskar on your burning skin has the opposite effect, and you shudder. 

“Stay still,” he grunts into your ear, squeezing your hips. 

And then his touch disappears and you hear his armor hit the floor piece by piece. Your body’s response is Pavlovian in nature, and your thighs clench as warmth floods your core. 

His touch is naked when it returns, and you shiver as his rough fingers run up your inner thigh. His other arm wraps around our waist, and lifts you up to meet him. He pressees hot, open-mouthed kisses across your cheek as he grinds his hips into yours. You groan at the feeling of his length against your bum. 

The filthiness of it all, the dirty, heated touches in the back room of a bar, the insatiable desire of your body to be caressed by his fingers, to be fucked over the desk until you were crying, makes you moan. The sensations are too much to bear, and your body shakes, yearning for something,  _ anything _ from him. 

You turn your head, seeking more of him. It makes him chuckle, but he indulges you, kissing you in a way that makes your toes curl. It’s over too quickly for your liking, and he pulls away, lips attaching themselves back to your throat. 

The fingers between your legs tease your slit, collecting the evidence of your arousal and bringing it to his lips. You’re left with nothing but the sound of the gentle lapping of his tongue, and his appreciative groans, but it’s enough to make your knees weak. 

You fall back against him, fingers curled around the forearm that holds you up. He holds you tighter against him, reading the fragility of your body. He teases a finger against your clit, and you stiffen. He continues his slow, teasing touches until your hips buck into his fingers, and you’re whining impatiently. 

You’re so aroused as this point, that it’ll only take a few touches to tip you over the edge, and you’re desperate for your release. “Please,” you groan, arching into his touch. 

He complies with your request, rubbing his fingers over your clit in quick circles. You fall apart in moments, coming with a shrill cry. Your body goes limp against him, but his hold on you is like iron. He pushes you through your orgasm with rough touches, drinking in every whimper and cry he wrenches from your throat. He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling in his arms, and every pass of his finger over your clit makes your breath hitch. 

Only then does he release you, and you drape over the desk, chest heaving as your pulse races. 

Mando takes you in, sweaty and disheveled, and his cock throbs something painful. He wraps his hand, slick from your release, around his cock and pumps it lazily as he watches you tumble back down to earth. His eyes travel over your prone body, until they land on the hallowed space between your thighs. Your legs twitch and your pussy shines, and he wants nothing more than to bury himself inside of you. 

The sound of him fucking his hand cuts through the lingering haze of your orgasm, and stirs your fervor. You reach for him blindly, but your hand finds nothing but air, and you let out a groan of frustration. 

He’s laughing at you again, a humorless, teasing laugh that stokes fire in the pit of your stomach. He knows you’re desperate, can read it in the way your body tenses at the slightest touch. You’re about ready to explode, so keyed up from his very presence and the hint of what’s to come. 

You’ve had enough of him messing with you, you decide, and reach between your thighs to take matters into your own hands. He grabs your wrists, and pulls them away, huffing under his breath. 

“No.” He mumbles, and there’s a clinking behind you before the cool touch of metal encircles your wrists. 

The son of a bitch just handcuffed you...and you like it. The action leaves you completely at his mercy, and the thought of that has you feeling like a melted puddle. 

Mando knocks your legs apart with his foot, and places himself at your entrance. The heat of your pussy is so inviting, it makes him moan just to be near it. He thrusts into you slowly, reveling in the feeling of you, warm and wet, engulfing him. He groans as you take him to the hilt, now completely sheathed in your velvet walls. 

You moan, so full of him, and desperate for him to move. You grind back against his flushed hips, and grin victoriously at how his breath hitches slightly. 

But he’s not having it. He holds your hips still, fingers digging into your skin like steel. He’ll do whatever he wants, when he wants to. For now, he wants to memorize the way being inside you feels, the way you clench around him, pulling him deeper. He leans forward, kisses the sweaty nape of your neck, and darts his tongue out to taste your salty skin. You shiver, and he thrusts into you involuntarily, making you cry out and arch against him. 

He can’t hold out any longer, and snaps his hips into yours. His thrusts are hard, making the desk creak and scrape against the floor, but he can’t control them. There’s something about being inside you that makes his brain short circuit. You may be the one handcuffed and bent over the desk, but he’s completely bewitched by your pussy. And the secrets he could spill while inside you, could end the world. 

Mando groans, breath hot against your ear. He’s close, embarrassingly so, but judging from the sounds you’re making underneath him, you’re not far out either. He snakes a hand around your wait to rub at your sore clit, and you clench around him like a vice, making him see stars. 

He explodes inside of you with an equally volatile yell. His orgasm is like a memory wipe, he can’t remember his name, he can’t even seem to remember where he is. But he’s certain of one thing, that he’s in love with you, scary as it is to admit it. And the words are dangerously close to slipping off of his tongue, but he clenches his teeth, holds it in. Because the only thing scarier than falling for you, is the possibility of you pushing him away because of it. 

You plummet over the edge with him, fingers curling against your palms and back arching against his chest. Your cries of his name fill the room like a symphony.  _ Dyn. Dyn. Dyn. _ You yell with reckless abandon, and it shatters his soul. 

He thrusts into you shallowly, until he’s tapped out, and you’re mewling, and then he pulls his softening cock from you with a small groan. He presses the button on the handcuffs to release you, and softly kisses your wrists. 

You shudder at the sudden shift in demeanor. The threatening Mandalorian is no more, stripped away along with the metal that usually hides him. It’s gone the moment the helmet goes back on. 

“It’s safe,” he says gruffly, voice layered behind the modulator. 

You take the blindfold off, and fix your skewed shirt and pants, try to regain whatever shreds of your dignity are left after the rough encounter. 

He’s fully dressed when you turn around, clipping the last bits of his armor in place. “Was that good enough for you?” He asks, and the edge in his tone is back. 

“Yeah,” you say, leaning back against the desk. 

“Good.” He crosses the room, leaning over you again. “Because I’m not a fucking robot. I’m not some clone, or a stormtrooper with a serial number. I’m a human, with a name, and I just wanted to hear someone say it. That’s it. This.” His gloved hand moves between you and him. “Means nothing to me. So you don’t have to worry about emotions screwing up our agreement.”

It’s a lie, of course, and he regrets it the moment he sees your response. 

You flinch back as the sting of his words washes over you. It’s what you wanted right? No emotions or complications. So why does it hurt so much to hear him say that out loud? Maybe there’s a part of you, deep inside, that hoped that maybe,  _ just maybe _ , he cared about you. A part of you buried under all the fear that if you give this a title, an official status, it would ruin the easygoing nature of what you have.

Mando sees the brief flash of emotion flit across your face. Notices the way your jaw relaxes, and you blink stupidly at him. You’re stunned, hurt. It’s like a fissure opens up in his chest. He wants to touch you gently, take back what he said and confess his love, but you’ve already made it clear you don’t want it. So instead he takes a step back, and lets the tension flood the space between you.

You look away first, blinking rapidly at your shoes. You scold yourself for your reaction.  _ It’s better this way _ . Better to ignore the emotions and bypass the inevitable heartbreak. 

“I’ll call you the next time I’m close.” He says with a finality that makes your stomach drop. 

He won’t. He knows it, and you know it too. Whatever the two of you had is over. Crumbled under the weight of emotions you’re both too fearful to admit. 

You try to force yourself to say something, but your tongue feels like lead. So you watch him leave without a second glance. The door slams shut, and the sound echoes in your ear like a haunting talisman of what could have been. 

Mando stands on the other side of the door, helmet pressed to the wood, fighting the urge to barge back in and tell you the truth. But he can’t risk the chance that you’ll reject him. He won’t.

He leaves, heads back to the ship with his head hanging low, and his heart in shambles. 

It’s the right thing to do. Deny himself the comfort of your love. He wasn’t made for it, swore any possibility of it away the moment he took his oath. He’s a Mandalorian, a killing machine, clothed in cold armor, armor that encapsulates his own heart. He’s not ready to take it all away and expose his heart without any guarantee that you’ll take it and protect it. 

He takes a final look at your bar, unaware that you’re watching him from one of the windows, heart just as heavy as his own. 

“This is the way,” he mumbles, and gets on his ship. 

The words leave a bitter taste on his tongue. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you think, I read every comment!  
> Check out my tumblr for more: queens-n-roses.tumblr.com


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